Reciprocity
by jean baron
Summary: Severely unfinished, hoping to eventually get to a LilySnape background on why Snape loathes Harry.


_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Severus Snape or James Potter—I basically do not own the entire wizarding setting/characters presented here (with the exception of Madam Hornsby, who is not important anyway). The story, however is mine.

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**Chapter One  
**

"Turn this way, dear—face me."

Severus complied, turning restlessly upon the crisp white cot. Madam Hornsby tutted upon seeing the magnificent smattering of marble-sized, greenish boils on his face.

"You boys must grow up and for goodness' sakes, stop _hexing_ each other!"

_An eye for an eye_, thought Severus to himself. Potter deserved every bit of that curse, and the fact that he didn't see it coming was his fault alone. His loathing of that cocky, vainglorious arsehole seared through him, curling his hands into fists, beating through his temples and threatening to restart the nosebleed Madam Hornsby had just quelled not five minutes ago. Yet his anger refreshed him, granted him a reprieve—albeit a brief one—from the fact that it _was_ Potter who had gotten the upper hand. After all, Severus was the one who had ended up in the infirmary.

He closed his eyes, remembering and relishing the earlier events of the afternoon. Hushed whispers among wide-eyed faces encircled the two in the courtyard, Severus crouched with acidic eyes and wand menacingly posed to strike. James, of course, stood erect and aloof, arms crossed in front of his chest and wand tucked away. Perhaps he was empowered by the knowledge that—undoubtedly—he was the favored to win. Whatever the reason, he was clearly not prepared for what came next.

"_STUPEFY!"_

Not the most sophisticated offensive tactic, Severus admitted to himself, yet it had obviously caught him off-guard. In the present, his lips unwittingly curled to a vindictive smile in remembrance of the appalled, recoiling look on Potter's proud face as he stumbled backwards. He had scrambled for his wand, muttering rapidly to himself in dismay.

Not quick enough, however, for in an instant Severus had advanced upon his clambering opponent. With speed he did not know he possessed, his white-knuckled fist met with the side of Potter's jaw, in a gut-wrenching _crack_ audible enough for the onlookers to hear and wince at. It rang through his ears, reverberating through his impassioned thoughts. He particularly savoured that moment

_**In the process of filling in…use your imagination for now.**_

Unfortunately, after James had regained his composure—alas! The remainder of the fight did not lean in Severus's favour.

"So Snivellus wants to have a little scuffle? What's wrong, Snivvy, have I pressed too many of your buttons?"

_I dare you to cross me, Potter._

A blow to his wildly overinflated ego.

"Oh? Is that an invitation?"

Malicious snickers from the jury.

"Walk away, _Snivellus_, and I'll forget this little incident. I'll forgive you. And most of all, I promise I won't lay a finger on your greasy mug."

Severus would never forget—nor forgive. That was simply not in the nature of a Slytherin to do. He told him instead to insert his wand into an uncomfortable place of his body—and what ensued was madness. Streaks of green light—visible even in the sunlight—filled his vision, and in the blur of chaos he distantly felt the blows landing left and right on his face. Another one of countless defeats for Severus Snape, set to the music of Potter and Co.'s raucous laughter.

Damn.

He could clearly envision his smirking face retelling the skewed story to slews of adoring followers. "…and he tried to punch me. Can you imagine, little old Snivvy trying to sock someone? I wasn't even sure if he had hit me!"—James Potter, ever the hero. Sirius Black—never absent from his side—would slap him on the back heartily and egg the crowd on, stamping out any wisp of sympathy and reason with which they might have analyzed this Potter-propaganda.. They would roar with laughter, all guilt vanished and already thinking of a good insult to throw next time they passed him in the hallways.

As the unpleasant tangents borne from his equally unpleasant memories bloomed through his mind, he squeezed his eyes shut and winced—willing them out. _I don't even know why I try_, he thought to himself.

More to come eventually 


End file.
